


Spellbound

by The_Exile



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Backstory, Bondage, Innuendo, Licking, M/M, Magical Paralysis, Mildly Dubious Consent, Moral Ambiguity, Reunited and It Feels So Good, mood lighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 03:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Exile/pseuds/The_Exile
Summary: An attempt to steal a spellbook in an effort to help his former lover and fellow student turned to forbidden magic ends in capture and awkward reunion.
Relationships: Dark Mage/Light Mage
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2
Collections: Male Slash Flash Exchange 2019





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).

As his fingers pressed against the book's open pages and he felt the first numbing electric jolt down his arms, crawling into his spine, he realised he'd been caught. Seconds before he lost most of the feeling in his limbs, he reached for the words of an emergency counterspell, collecting together every last remaining drop of arcane energy not already drained by the wards he thought he was so clever by already wrapping himself in at all times. Any memory of the words slipped away from his memory like a fish escaping a hook with the bait, plucked out of his mind before a shield slammed down around his mind, locking him in from magically affecting the outside world.

He cursed himself for an idiot. His shields, his cloak of stealth the reflexive counterspells, the trap searches and the magic sensors - all of it was good enough for a raid against another magician of equal training in the same fields as himself but not for fooling a fully trained necromancer. Their trade was so much more cut-throat, sometimes literally, everything they studied came with harsh, strict training in how to disguise that they were doing it, combat someone trying to sabotage them and then mount a counter-attack. 

None of the spellbooks had registered as still being warded - he'd already dispelled quite a few nasty traps. He hadn't sensed anyone in the room with him either. Obviously he'd missed something out somewhere, one tiny inch of the room he hadn't scanned, or else the illusions hiding the wards were far too powerful for him. Now he couldn't move or cast spells - Gods above, he could barely think - and someone was walking towards him, a magician's cloak sweeping across the well-polished floor, spotless boots clicking against the wooden tiles. He heard a soft, slightly menacing chuckle, a precise, soft-spoken whisper in his ear as his captor leaned over him. The sensation of the soft cloth, the smell of incense, the hot breath and slight sweep of a bottom lip against his earlobe brought a shiver down his spine, despite his semi-paralysis. 

"I hadn't ever thought of you as a thief, Rutger," he whispered, his blue eyes glinting. He knew the effect he was having on his captive, the would-be thief realised. Typical to the man's twisted sense of fun, he was enjoying the tortured mix of feelings in Rutger's eyes, in his body and soul, was probably even now trying to encourage it without sating it.

"What brought you out of your ridiculously tight moral restraints, anyway? Were you thinking of redeeming me by taking away my books? Finding a way to counteract my evil powers so you could fight me and drag me back to the world of the living? Fat lot of good that did," he cackled, learning in even further and darting a tongue against the bound man's neck, "Or maybe you were curious about the dark arts? Did you sneak away from your own masters to learn about something more powerful, something more immediately useful, where you'll be free to do as you like? Darling, you should just ask if that's all you want of me!"

Rutger groaned as he strained against the force tightening uncomfortably against his throat, desperately trying to form words. The dark mage laughed and snapped his fingers, then the force around his head and neck, at least, relaxed.

"I'm not afraid of you," he warned, "And I'm not really enthused about hurting you, but I will, if you turn on me, as so many do."

"Hugeaux," he gasped, "You're still beautiful but you look awful compared to how you did. Your mind isn't right either... you used to laugh so sincerely..."

"Are you reminiscing about our time as younger students in the Academy together, Rutger? How romantic of you," he cackled again. 

"That's right, all I want is that old Hugeaux back," he collected his breath together, "That's all I came to say. Not everybody betrayed you like our mentor did, and I for one will never forget you or stop longing for your return - to me, if not to the Academy."

"I must admit, that last part is... certainly tempting," Hugeaux turned the other man's head with one elegant, manicured, long-nailed hand to look directly into his eyes. The dark mage's soft blonde hair was turning white prematurely from the drain of the forces he tried to command against the will of the very laws of the cosmos. Gaunt lines now creased his delicate good looks, a harsh, overly animated look in his once permanently amused eyes. The energy crackling through that hand made Rutger feel faintly nauseous but he was distracted from this as soon as the man spoke again, "You will have to do more than that to persuade me, though. We can start right now - I keep a bed made up in the library, I have so much work to do these days! Don't worry, I'm going to release you from that spell. You're as responsive as a corpse right now and, despite the nasty rumours you people spread, we aren't all necessarily into that in our college. No, I'm the same Hugeaux as I always was, but with my illusions shattered. Let me show you how much I haven't changed."

True to his word, the strong enchantments restraining him began to slip away, the feelings returning to his limbs. Dropping the book - for now - he allowed the man to lead him by the arm deeper into the cluttered warren of his personal library, to the work-strewn desk, piles of arcane tomes, a side table with a magically reinforced bottle of vintage brandy and a bedroll with a pile of blankets on it that passed for a bed when you rarely used it anyway. 

"I apologise, it isn't a particularly good bed but it will suffice," he grinned, then snapped his fingers again to dim the witch-lights burning all around them.


End file.
